


Glowing

by spraycansoul



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, Christmas Fluff, Don't say I didn't warn you, Fluff, Gay, LIKE IT'S ACTUALLY JUST ALL FLUFF, M/M, Marriage Proposal, SnowBaz, post-carry on, super fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6937447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spraycansoul/pseuds/spraycansoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love being your terrible boyfriend.” I laugh at this, at how utterly untrue it is. He’s the best fucking boyfriend I could ever ask for.</p><p>I’m holding my breath. I’m scared-excited-nervous that his next words will break me.</p><p>“But I’d love even more to be your terrible husband.”</p><p>Snowbaz proposal. Major gay fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glowing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!! This is my first fic in a loooooong time, and the first Snowbaz ever, so please pardon the lapses. I'm a little rusty. I tried to include as many parallels as I could from the book (mostly Chapters 60 & 61), so there's that.
> 
> You can also read this on Tumblr [here](http://miserybiscuits.tumblr.com/post/144678507253/glowing)!!

#### BAZ

  


I’m going to die kissing Simon Snow.

* * *

It’s Christmas eve—five years since the first time I kissed Simon Snow. Or, more accurately, Simon Snow kissed me. 

We’re all sat around the dining table in my parents’ house in Hampshire; I have Simon on my right and my dad at the head of the table to my left. My dad, mum, and sisters are debating on which is the best of all the Christmas movies, and I butt in once in a while to make a very convincing case for The Nightmare Before Christmas, which is my personal favourite.

“You would,” Mordelia quips, theatrically rolling her eyes. “Sally and Jack’s names are so close to Simon and Baz.”

Everyone else laughs at this, but I stick my tongue out at her. “Shut up, Mordelia. Finish your chicken.” 

She sticks her tongue back out at me. The little bugger.

I am so proud of her.

I take Simon’s hand under the table and give it a little squeeze. My father and Daphne have accepted our relationship now (more warmly than we had expected, actually) and everything’s been smooth sailing, but he seems a little extra jumpy tonight. He manages a tight smile in my direction, which I counter with a questioning frown. His smile grows into a knowing, genuine one—the kind you give someone you’ve just shared a secret with—and it’s enough to put me at ease.

Simon and I’ve spent Christmas here in Winchester for the past two years—over time, it would seem the magic’s seeped back into all of the dead spots and, thank Crowley, even Simon’s body. He’d burst (as literally as he could) into our flat the day he’d found out, jumped on the couch where I was sprawled, and started smothering my face with kisses. 

“Okay, not that I don’t love this, but what’s going on?” I tried pulling his face away to look at him. “Did you lose one of my jumpers again because I swear to God I’m gonna—”

Simon cut me off with a peck on my lips. “My magic’s back,” he whispered, breathless from all the kissing.

My eyes widened and I nearly pushed him off the couch in my surprise. Thankfully, I caught him in a hug before he could fall. “The Chosen One is back, baby!”

I got a smack to the head with a pillow for that one.

Of course, he doesn’t glow with power anymore (it would seem he has just the same amount of magic as the rest of us now), and that’s good, because he’s able to control it a little better, and also I’m finally a better mage than he is. (!!!)

But at least now, he can hide his wings and tail when they’re inconvenient. (He’d tried skipping rope with my sisters a few years ago, before his magic came back—it didn’t end well for anyone involved.)

After dinner, Simon tugs on my hand. Our fingers have been intertwined as soon as he’d finished devouring his third helping, and I had no plans of letting him go any time soon. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Walk with me?” 

Just as I’m about to whine about the cold, he flashes me a winning smile, and I just can’t say no. Simon’s already handing me my coat (I narrow my eyes at the gesture, because why does he have my coat?) and moves to put his own on.

“You’re not fair,” I pout as we walk out the front door. 

“C’est la vie, love,” he sing-songs.

He takes my hand and leads me to the side of the house, right to the edge of the forest. I shiver from the cold—it hasn’t started snowing yet, thank goodness, but would it have killed him to have at least gotten me a scarf? Or some gloves?

I tell him as much and he smiles sheepishly. “Oops. But don’t worry, you’ll be warmer in a bit,” Simon says, and that’s when I see it.

The forest is glowing.

Floating lanterns light a narrow path that I know leads into a clearing in the forest. (I know, because I lived here my whole childhood.) It’s beautiful and romantic and I can’t feel my face, partly because of the cold, but mostly because my smile is huge. Just the sight of it warms me better than a fresh pint of blood ever could, and I feel my ears turn red.

“Is this how you’re finally going to end me?” I whisper, eyes still locked on the glowing forest.

Simon laughs his beautiful laugh and presses his lips to my freezing hand. “How about we find out?” 

He leads me through the lights and lights and lights, his hand warm over mine and his smile never faltering. And even though the forest is beautiful like this, I can’t take my eyes off of him. His hair is as golden as ever and my heart is racing and—is his skin actually glowing?—and I can’t believe that this boy is mine.

_But I believe in love_  
_And I know that you do too_  
_And I believe in some kind of path_  
_That we can walk down, me and you_  


I snap out of my trance for a second just as I notice there’s music playing. I look around, looking for a speaker of some sort, but I suppose Simon’s magicked it into the air somehow. It’s soft, subtle—if Simon had been speaking, I wouldn’t have heard it—but as we’re walking, it’s quite clear. And familiar.

“Is that—”

“Into My Arms,” he confirms just as we reach the clearing. The song at the leavers ball, the first time we danced.

_So keep your candles burning_  
_And make her journey bright and pure_  
_That she will keep returning_  
_Always and evermore_  
_Into my arms, O Lord_  


“Dance with me?” he turns to smile at me, gesturing to the space in front of us.

“Crowley, Snow, you know you can’t dance,” I roll my eyes at him, crossing my arms.

“Humor me just this once, Baz.” His tone is deadpan, but his eyes are sparkling. Maybe it’s the light. 

The music is a little clearer here, but the lights are a lot brighter. There are lanterns around us everywhere now. They float at various heights at the sides, forming walls of light to keep the trees out and a ceiling above us, illuminating the night sky. 

I look back down at Simon, who illuminates my heart.

(I _know_. I gagged right after I thought that too. Blame stupid Simon Snow.)

I have to admit I’m impressed. I’m the one who usually pulls the Grand Romantic Gestures in our relationship, but it’s nice to be on the receiving end for once. Who knew Simon Snow was capable of this stuff?

“Fine,” I huff, so that I don’t give away that I’m actually living for this. I place my hands on his waist to pull him closer to me, and he locks his fingers together behind my neck. We sway slowly to the music. His heart seems to be beating twice as fast as usual, I can feel it in my own chest. Which is good. Because mine is racing just as fast.

_You’re so alive, Simon Snow._

_You make me feel so alive._

I rest my forehead on his, smiling down at him, waiting for him to tell me what the fuck is going on. 

“Does any of this seem familiar to you?” he asks me softly.

I close my eyes to think—why does all of this seem so familiar to me?

“Well,” I start, “the last time I stood with you in a forest full of fire, I was suicidal and you moved to kiss me.”

He smiles at the memory and I do, too. It was painful then, the surge of feelings that I got after meeting Nicodemus, but he’d managed to turn it all around with one kiss.

I think I might kiss him right now.

And then—déjà vu!— _he_ kisses _me_. 

His mouth is warm. Everything is warm.

I try to tell him through my kiss: _I love you, I love you, thank you for this, whatever this is._

The kiss is short and sweet, but full of meaning. 

When he pulls away, he looks like he’s psyching himself out to fight another dragon. “Baz,” he says to get my attention, looking up at me intently.

I rest my forehead on his and look into his eyes to let him know I’m listening. _‘Bout fucking time, Snow._

“When we were in that forest five years ago today, I was so terrified of losing you. Absolutely mortified. Though I had no idea why then.” He laughs nervously, and I laugh with him. “And now, five years later, it’s still my biggest fear.” I feel his hands start to shake by the nape of my neck, so I plant a kiss at his temple to try calm him down. I try to steady myself too, because now my head is spinning and I have no clue where he’s going with this.

He takes a deep breath. “I wasted seven years trying to figure you out, fighting with you, hating your guts, and then the last five years trying to make up for it all. It turns out I’d been obsessing over you for all the wrong reasons before.” He shakes his head at himself now. “But at least now I’m obsessed with you because you make me the happiest person alive. You’re not a monster, Baz. You’re a bully.” I’m laughing again, because I know where this is going. “And a snob, and complete arsehole.” I glare at him through the saltwater that’s building in my eyes. “But you’re mine.” 

I feel the first tear slip down my cheek, and it’s so fucking cheesy, but I love it anyway. 

He continues, and he looks scared and excited and nervous. “Five years ago, I had no idea why I wanted to kiss you, but now I have no idea why I hadn’t kissed you any sooner.”  


“You’re a bloody idiot, that’s why,” I tease him, and he pinches the back of my neck. “Crowley, Snow, I’m just kidding. You know I love you.” I lean down to peck his lips for emphasis. I tell him through this kiss: _Dammit, Simon, stop beating around the bush._

“I love you too, so much,” he answers automatically, grinning. “I love being your terrible boyfriend.” I laugh at this, at how utterly untrue it is. He’s the best fucking boyfriend I could ever ask for. 

He grins, tears pooling in his eyes. “I love it. Trust me. I do.” He pauses, takes another deep breath. Looks into my eyes like it’s the first time he’s ever seen them and they’re the most fascinating things since cherry scones and butter.

I’m holding my breath. I’m scared-excited-nervous that his next words will break me.

"But I’d love even more to be your terrible husband.” He bursts into a smile and drops down on one knee. His hand fumbles in his coat pocket, pulling out a long velvet box. 

I can’t breathe. My thoughts are _Simon_. Everywhere. Simon.

He opens it now, revealing a beautiful round diamond platinum band on a chain. One time. I’d expressed my distaste for wearing rings on my fingers _one time_ , and he remembered. I can’t believe he remembered.

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” he looks up at me now, his extraordinary blue eyes, full of love and hope, boring into mine that are getting increasingly wet. “Will you marry me?”

I’m still not breathing. I’m not sure I know how to breathe anymore.

I do know one thing, one small, three-letter word that swims in my head and floods my bloodstream.

“ _Yes_ , you bleeding idiot,” I choke out after a moment, pulling him up to his feet. I’m smiling and crying, I don’t know how to do anything else but smile and cry, I can’t believe this is happening. “Yes, yes, _yes_. A million times yes, Simon Snow.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grew three sizes bigger than before. He scrambles to put the chain on my neck—the platinum is cold, but it’s the best fucking kind of cold there is— and finally our lips meet, this time passionate, hot, thankful. I feel my—his?—warm tears sliding down my cheeks. I feel the light and warmth from all the lanterns, from all the Simon, seeping into my body.

I feel happy. So bloody happy. I can’t remember a time I was ever this happy.

I try it out in my head. _Fiancé_. Simon Snow is my fiancé. Just the thought of it makes me feel like I’m glowing. I probably am, too.

“I love you,” I say against his lips. “I love you, I love you, I _love_ you.” So that he never forgets. 

This time, I swear it: I’m going to die kissing Simon Snow. Every single day of my life.

And Aleister Crowley, it’s going to be the sweetest goddamn death in the history of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Here are the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEUgORVsECs) and the [ring](http://media.tiffany.com/is/image/Tiffany/EngagementItemL/etoile-22057421e062508_1.02ct_tf_ml_x1b_ER_R1.jpg?defaultImage=NoImageAvailable&&). And I imagined the lanterns to be kind in Tangled. I hope y’all enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it!!!


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